Such Wonderful Things
by Of Sandwiches and Sea-Monsters
Summary: What you wish had happened during THAT SCENE in 2x04. And later that night. Pure wish fulfilment fantasy.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Come on, you know you wish this is what had happened... :D First posted on the LJ MMMondayMadness community where we are RPing a M/M scene for every S02 episode._

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><p><strong>Such Wonderful Things<strong>

There was something almost cathartic about being forced to stand up and sing. Her parents were right. The only thing to do was carry on and, standing there surrounded by her family - even Edith, making the effort, she did feel better. Because she had to. But oh what a song! Mary sang mechanically, she knew she was, breathing in all the wrong places... but to try to phrase it, to think about its meaning - she simply couldn't. Everything about her was tense. Tense from natural nerves at performing (though she was so used to putting on a different persona that she was able to muffle these well) and tense because... she was not sure she would ever not be. Tense because it took every fibre of her being to stand up and not cry and wail and scream to the heavens that Matthew was missing.

As she finished the verse, she raised her arms slightly, encouraging the audience to join in the chorus. They were watching her, relying on her. She could support them and perhaps in doing so support herself. She smiled desperately, hoping they would respond and, in an overwhelming gesture of solidarity, they did. Everyone sang. Everyone except the one person who mattered, who was not there.

_"If you were the only girl in the world, and I were the only boy..."  
><em>  
>They rang the bell, and waited. And waited.<p>

"Odd," Matthew muttered to William.

He shivered a little, it was late in the evening - they'd been travelling all day, from the moment they were released, to get here; realising that everyone must be thinking the worst. Unable to bear it any longer, they looked at each other. Matthew shrugged and tried the door anyway - it opened. As soon as they were inside, the sound floating through from the library reached their ears. Singing... Beautiful singing.

William leaned, and whispered, "Daisy 'ad mentioned something about a concert, sir. For the wounded."

"Ah," Matthew nodded. "We'd best sneak in quietly, then - try not to disturb things too much."

Gently pushing open the door, the singing grew louder - the entire room, singing the same, familiar chorus. Tucking his hat under his arm, Matthew stepped behind the row at the back, peering through the heads to see... Mary, at the front. His breath caught in an irrepressible smile as he saw her singing, buoying everyone up with her sweet voice. The words struck him deeply, and he forgot for a moment about everything else as he caught her gaze, losing himself instantly in it.

_"Nothing else would matter in the world today, we could go on loving in the same old..."  
><em>  
>Mary was staring right to the back of the hall, avoiding meeting anybody's eye so she saw him as soon as he entered the room. The words died on her lips as the rest of the room faded into insignificance. She hardly heard the singing from the others, did not hear them fall into silence as they noticed her reaction. There was a rushing in her ears as of a wind through the room. Her eyes widened, her lips remained parted on the last word she was singing, all she was conscious of was him and the rise and fall of her chest, her heart pounding uncontrollably in her breast, struggling to be free.<p>

Alive. He was alive. Dear God, he was alive. Alive and at Downton. She could conceive of nothing beyond it. Until her father rose and walked up the aisle to join him, she remained paralysed but his movement released some of the tension in her, made her see it as truth and not a vision. Closing her eyes in a relief that could not be hidden she breathed, "Thank God."

At her obvious response to him, everything else seemed to fade just a little. Matthew's heart thudded in his chest, a strange ache pooling there, at her evident - no, blatant - relief... and he realised he was almost as relieved to see her. Reaching the middle of the back aisle, he smiled, and... realised everyone was looking at him, staring at him as if in utter joy.

Feeling suddenly very conspicuous, he was almost glad when Robert broke the thick tension by approaching him, with such great warmth that Matthew was a little overwhelmed. Really, he hadn't been in such very great danger!

"My dear boy. My very dear boy." Matthew shook his hand firmly, then couldn't help but turn back to Mary - his heart twisted again, and he smiled breathlessly at her. His lips moved a little, but it took him a moment to muster any speech.

"Come on, don't stop for me," he eventually stammered out, unable to bear the thick silence.

He started walking towards her, hadn't even thought about it, it was as though he were drawn to her and he offered no resistance. All there was were her eyes, and her face, and he wanted her to sing again. Exhiliration suddenly hit him and he grinned, picked up his pace and, without any real thought, began to sing – perhaps in the hope that it would prompt her to continue. As his clear voice broke the weighty silence, he locked his eyes onto hers until everything else was drowned out.

_"I would say such wonderful things to you - there would be such wonderful things to do..."_He reached her, and turned back around, beaming.

He was real, he was real and he was here and - relief coursed through her, warm and shuddering and she could not have hidden her feelings, not now. She smiled, she trembled, she blinked back tears... He stood with her father at the top of the room and then, while she stood there, unmoving by the piano, he began to walk towards her, as if she was the only girl in the world, down the aisle, past their family, and then- then he opened his mouth and began to sing. She had never heard him sing before. Perhaps he did not have the greatest voice in the world, she did not know; it was still the most beautiful sound she had ever heard in her life. Her face seemed to be working of its own accord, smiling with a sweetness that was unfamiliar. Because right then and there in that moment as they stood together, side by side facing the rows of chairs, there was nothing else in the world that mattered. He inspired her, gave her courage, but unnerved her at the same time.

His physical presence next to her was magnetic in its power. She was so aware of him, of the space between him and her expression sobered again as she joined in with the words,_ "There would be such wonderful things to do!"_ though as she glanced over at him again and met his eyes she could not help smiling once more in the purest joy at seeing him there.

The feeling in Matthew's chest, gut, heart, his entire body, when she began to sing with him, was simply indescribable. He'd felt nothing like it, never such joy, not even when... His mind blanked of all but her. He could think of nothing, no-one, else in that moment.

_"If you were the only girl in the world, and I were the only boy..."  
><em>  
>As they sang the final line, he flitted between glances at her and projecting his smile out to the cheery, joyful faces before him, but as the final word hung in the air he could only look at her. It was truly as though she <em>were<em>the only girl in the world. He couldn't even muster himself to feel any guilt, not now, not in this moment - he was here, and she was happy to see him, and right now, there was nothing else in the world as he gazed warmly at her, his glittering smile faltering just a fraction with a great seriousness that suddenly swept over him.

As they sang the last line, she looked at him again and caught his eyes on her and the words died on her lips. A surge of warmth and affection and utter relief washed over her in a great wave as she turned to him in appreciation of his support. Dear God, he was _there_. As if to prove that he really was there - solid and real and alive, she raised her hand and very briefly touched his chest lightly, without even thinking about what she was doing.

That they were standing in - no, not even in, but at the front of - a crowded room was beyond Matthew's care. Propriety, convention, all concerns like that were beyond his care. Whilst he knew perfectly well all the time he'd been safe, they - she - evidently had not, and the chilling reality of that struck him hard. Now that he was back with her, he knew that she was the only thing that mattered. How had he ever believed otherwise?

Unconsciously, his hand rose to cover hers on his chest, fingers brushing lightly over hers. All he could see was her, all he could think was her, and the words of the song they had sung together were ringing in his ears... If she _were_ the only girl in the world, and he the only boy, and it really felt like they were, he would... He blinked, lost in her encompassing gaze, and driven by an urge quite beyond his control he stepped forwards, lifted his other hand to touch her cheek and pressed his lips to hers, feeling his heart leap and shatter as a wave of _rightness _washed over him.

The warmth became something sharper as his bare hand covered hers. Her lips parted, her gaze flickered across his face and as he kissed her she sighed in joy and inevitability, stepping forwards against him and winding both her arms round his neck and pulling him closer to her as she poured everything she was feeling and had felt into the kiss without restraint.

Matthew grinned against her lips as her felt her respond, and slipped his arms around her waist then his hand up her back, holding her against him and all the warmth he felt from her. He kissed her, and kissed her, feeling sharply as though he had been denying himself this for so long now, years... and now he was setting it right.

She responded to him with ardour, only limited by the fact that her relief and love was almost too much to bear; it made her breathless and almost pained from the rapid beating of her heart. Her hand slid up his neck and into his hair, slicked back in military precision as she continued to kiss him. It took a particularly loud whistle almost in her ear to make her aware of the clapping, cheering and cat-calling that was going on around them. Even then it took her several more seconds to bring herself to break the kiss. And then she was unable to muster much alarm, staring deeply and happily into his eyes, her thumb caressing his cheek.

Matthew groaned softly in reluctance as she pulled away, and met her eyes with a great depth of warmth. Finally, he allowed the thought to flourish in his mind, that... he loved her. He loved her, completely, utterly, undeniably, loved her. Smiling bashfully, he dared to glance around, and gasped to see the entire room cheering at them - led with the greatest enthusiasm by the family - even Violet was beaming! Licking his lips nervously, he looked back at Mary, eyes sparkling with affection, clasping her hand warmly between his own, desperately needing her touch.

A soft chuckle passed his lips. "Oh dear, I think we've put on rather more of a show than your parents bargained for," he murmured quietly, lips quirking irrepressibly upwards.

Mary did not look away until he did, a blush covering her cheeks as she happened to meet her mother's eyes. But she was smiling, smiling so widely as Mama had not smiled for so long and she could not help smiling back and clutching Matthew's hand tighter. She felt empty without his arms around her and she felt that she never would, never could let go again. She bit her lip, still blushing.

"It's all for a good cause, I suppose!" She felt light, giddy, irrepressible. She looked at him again, at his eyes, at his lips, at his everything with gladness and love.

"A very good cause," he murmured deeply, not thinking at all of the wounded soldiers the concert had really been for. They were together. That was all that mattered now.

After a brief, apologetic glance back toward the seated assembly, he returned his full attention to Mary, eyes tracing over her face as though he'd never properly seen it before, as carefully as though he might never see it again. Turning his body slightly to shield her, he bent his head to kiss her once more, briefly but sweetly, with all the tenderness and affection he could muster that was overflowing within him. Knowing that to continue now really _would_be improper, he drew back with reluctance, though his hand remained softly against her cheek.

She leaned up, eyes shining, and kissed him back gently, understanding his motivations and his reticence. Her lips tingled as she pulled away again and it was her turn to place her hand over his on her cheek.

Her father was speaking, however, calling the concert back to order. "We can greet the conquering heroes properly later. In the mean time I think there are some more people waiting to perform! Mary, do come and sit down, dear!"

It was a rebuke, affectionate, but still a rebuke. Mary pursed her lips and pulled Matthew's hand down and tugged on it. She rolled her eyes very slightly at him and murmured, "Come!" as she led the way back up the aisle to where she had sat before.

Matthew followed meekly, with a nod of apology at Robert before he turned at sat down. The Earl's warm smile, though, betrayed his feeling. Seated now next to Mary (someone had wisely cleared a chair for him), he was glad when the next act began, and everyone's attention was once again diverted - his own included, for he hardly dared allow himself to think just yet. And so, he sat, his hand contentedly in Mary's, fingers entwined, and let out a gentle, peaceful sigh. No, he would not _think_ just yet. But for now he had comfort in that he _knew_, beyond any doubt, that he loved her... And all else paled beside that glorious fact.

She sat next to him, hearing not a word of the jokes the soldier who followed her song was telling. Her fingers played restlessly with Matthew's and, calm as she was externally, she was not calm inside. She could not help shifting in her chair so that her shoulder brushed against his as if by accident but then she would glance across at him and smile and it was clear it was not an accident. Dear, darling Matthew. If only they could always remain like this!

Then, as she was forced to let go of his hand to applaud whatever had been going on on the stage, a thought occurred to her and she leaned towards him and whispered, "Have you already been to Crawley House? You know your mother isn't here? Where are you going to stay?"

Distractedly clapping, Matthew turned slightly towards her though his eyes remained politely forwards.

"I'd hardly thought," he said truthfully. "I'd assumed Crawley House, though I suppose it's all shut up now, is it?"

She shrugged slightly. "I've no idea. I suppose Molesley could get a bed ready for you but it is rather late... You had better stay here where there is plenty of space. I'll speak to Mrs. Hughes at the end."

He caught her eyes, and his lips quirked up into a smile. "Well, if it'd be no trouble - the thought of going out again now seems quite impalatable." The thought of being any further from her than he had to be. "I'd appreciate it, very much."

"It's no trouble at all, Matthew!"

Her expression lapsed back into adoration for a moment. Then, realising with a jolt that this would be the first time he had ever spent the night under the same roof as her, she looked down with sudden consciousness. The applause had died down and she took his hand again, squeezing it gently and facing back to the front, her heart racing once again.

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><p><em>AN: Hope you enjoyed! We are writing a sequel which will be posted here soon - the rating will go up *cough* so do add this story to your alerts so you don't miss it! :-)_

_Thanks for reading! All comments are very much appreciated._


	2. Chapter 2

_So, some time later, here is our promised sequel to Such Wonderful Things. Well, half of it. There's much more, only it's not quite finished yet and was getting REALLY long, so here's the warm up :) Which hopefully will whet your appetite nicely for the conclusion!_

_Thank you so much for your responses to Chapter 1, we hugely appreciate it!_ _And hope that you will enjoy this chapter just as much._

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><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

Sitting on the freshly prepared bed, as the fire struggled to take purchase in the cold grate, Matthew rifled through his kit bag. He barely had decent provision; a dressing gown was certainly an extravagance at the front, but he'd not wanted to trouble anyone to go to Crawley House to fetch anything. At least he had pyjamas, though he rarely bothered to wear them in France – daily changing of his uniform was far too much effort. He changed quickly, folding his clothes neatly out of habit and placing them on a chair.

It seemed a little odd, to be spending the night here when his own house was so close, but he couldn't have faced its cold emptiness. Not tonight, not when everything here was so warm and full of life. When Mary had offered, he'd jumped at the chance. He'd pondered over their kiss, over the sense of it, had thought painfully over Lavinia, but... Oh, he could barely think of it now. Tomorrow, in the light, he'd think more sensibly, after sleeping on it. Would work out what to do for the best, but he knew now that he loved Mary, impossibly loved her. No, he needed to sleep on it. He was just pulling back the covers to climb in, when a soft tap on the door startled him.

Mary had passed the evening in a blur of happiness, that kind of dangerous, giddy joy that can only follow despair. Joy that Matthew was alive, that he was present in her sight (for she always felt a kind of happiness just to look at him), and that he had kissed her so wonderfully and held her so tenderly. She endured every sly, amused glance and ribaldry with good humour, knew that the way her eyes darted to Matthew wherever he was in the room only added fuel to fire but could not care. That he said he was going to Lavinia the next day could hardly bring her back to earth, the thought of Sir Richard had no effect... For this glittering evening she was happy. But after the party had broken up and everyone had gone to their respective rooms and Mary was alone in her room, sober reflection would intrude. He was engaged to Lavinia. She was going to marry Sir Richard. And yet they had kissed. She shook her head and frowned as she sat at her dresser in her nightgown, hair tied back in a plait down her back. She could not let him leave tomorrow like this. She could not endure not knowing...

With sudden decision, she stood and pulled a shawl round her shoulders and slipped quietly out of her room in the direction of the bachelors' corridor. They needed to talk properly. Goodness knows if they could manage it - she was not sure it was something they had ever succeeded at very well! Also, she missed him. The giddiness, or at least the memory of it, had not quite deserted her.

She paused in front of the door of his room. Of course he been allocated the one that, many years before, Kemal Pamuk had occupied and she had avoided since then. She had not been in it since that dreadful day. Well, she would just have to put that behind her. She took a deep breath and knocked.

Hesitating a moment, Matthew carefully crossed to the door. Placing his hand on the doorknob, he thought to enquire who it might be - probably just Carson, or Molesley, to give him something - well, he thought, whoever it might be he was hardly going to refuse them, and so opened the door a fraction. His eyes widened, lips parted as he saw Mary through the narrow gap… in her nightdress, looking utterly ethereal. Unable to do anything else, he pulled the door a little wider. She was in her nightgown. He was in only thin pyjamas himself, and shivered suddenly, the absurdity of it seeming to drive everything else from his mind.

"Hello," he said, unable to process what she was doing here, at his bedroom, as his eyes wandered unconsciously over her.

He pulled open the door while her hand was still raised, unsure whether to knock again. She quickly let it fall. He was already in bed it seemed, in pyjamas at any rate. Her eyes dropped briefly to the opening of his shirt at his neck and the few strands of hair visible before she raised them quickly to his face, frowning slightly at her lack of concentration. She had not come to -

"I didn't mean to disturb you!" she whispered quickly. "I hope you weren't asleep. May I - may I come in, please?"

He shook his head briskly. "No!" Blinking, he recovered himself. "That is - no, I wasn't asleep, and you haven't disturbed me." He stepped back invitingly, opening the door fully. "Please, come in."

Crossing hastily to the chair, he moved his things off it onto the cabinet and perched on the end of the bed, trying not to feel uncomfortable at their relative states of undress - the uncomfortable tingle that swept through him when he looked at her. He shivered again.

"What is it?" he smiled gently, curiously.

She still got a funny feeling coming into this room, the room into which she had carried her lover... She tried not to look around it and perched on the chair, after a moment's hesitation. For a few seconds she did not reply, staring at the pattern on the carpet rather than looking at him, his hair a little more mussed than before, his pyjamas so very - very thin. Then the silence grew too thick. She could hear his breathing and she blinked up at him, pulling her shawl a little closer round her.

"I think we need to talk, Matthew," she replied seriously, "before you leave in the morning." She hesitated and then continued, "I can't - I can't let you go without talking to you." She shivered suddenly.

Matthew looked at her carefully, and licked his lips in thought. She was right, of course. Of course they needed to talk.

"No, no, you're right," he murmured softly, even his quiet voice sounding unbearably loud in the stillness of the room. He gave a brief, but heavy, sigh. "I'm sorry," he finally looked up at her, eyes shining apologetically. "It wasn't fair of me to presume on you like that, not when we both are... But - but Mary, I -"

Again, he licked his lips and trailed off. How could he explain the treachery of his heart, or justify it? He had no excuse, he'd been in the wrong, but he couldn't be sorry for it. It had felt too right.

"But-" she prompted him, and shivered again. She broke off, rather glad to, for this was painful. She did not like his apology. To apologise for the utter beauty of that moment seemed wrong.

"Goodness, this room is an ice box!" she interrupted herself, her gaze flickering to the hearth. "I suppose there was not time to prepare it properly. Come on." She stood up. "I can't think when I'm this cold let alone talk, and you don't even have a dressing gown." Her cheeks reddened a bit as she looked him over again. Those pyjamas - they did not leave much to the imagination! "Will you come somewhere warmer?" she hurriedly continued.

"Yes, alright," he answered after only a moment's hesitation.

He wasn't sure whether his shivers were from the cold, or something else entirely, but he welcomed the distraction from sitting alone and so unclothed in his bedroom of all places! Any delay to the inevitable conversation he would take, for he knew he'd be forced to admit to things that he barely dared admit to himself yet. Standing up, he picked up his military coat from where it lay over the foot of the bed and pulled it on over his pyjamas - it was better than nothing, at least. He stood back, waiting for her direction.

Mary watched him put his coat on with fluttery concern. For a moment she felt a little like a mother hen - or. No, better not to think of that. Smiling brightly and briefly, she opened the door and preceded him out. He followed her in silence down the corridor to the hallway. She had not thought ahead. They could go to the library... but she could still hear muffled voices - not all the soldiers had retired yet. She hesitated for a moment then gave a small shrug, looked behind her to check he was still following and continued down the corridor. Her room was warm and comfortable and it was hardly more improper than anywhere else at this time.

Not being familiar with the layout of these parts of the house, Matthew was content to meekly follow her lead. But then, they passed the top of the staircase without descending, and he frowned, paying a little more attention to their route. Surely there was nothing but bedrooms on this floor? They passed the top of the second staircase, and Matthew didn't dare question, could only follow with held breath. When she stopped finally and pushed open a door, and the first thing he saw through the crack was a bed, his heart thudded almost painfully in his chest and he had to swallow back a gasp. This must be her bedroom, he realised. His throat felt suddenly dry but he followed her wordlessly in, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room as the door closed behind him. It was warmer in here, at least. Much warmer.

Once they were in her room, she turned and faced him with a nervous smile.

"I hope you don't mind..." she gestured uselessly. "It's much more homely in here, don't you agree?"

She went and sat down on the end of her bed and watched him, hoping he wasn't too offended. But honestly, they were rather past formalities now and Matthew had never been one to stick to what was proper... it was one of the things she loved about him.

"Very much so," he almost whispered.

He felt a strange sense of privilege in being here, in such a personal, private place as her bedroom. Suddenly he felt dreadfully hot, but couldn't decide what to do about it, didn't want to presume (again!)...

"Do you - mind terribly if I take my coat off?" It had seemed sensible for walking through the corridors, and to bare down to his pyjamas in her bedroom was almost unthinkable, but he was unbearably hot!

Her lips twitched. "Please, Matthew, make yourself comfortable. This is a bedroom, not the parade ground!"

Yes. It was a bedroom! And the last time a man had been in it- She looked down, suddenly shy and she felt a hot flush pass over her. He was here, with her, in the silent night and he was taking off his overcoat, making himself comfortable... She cleared her throat sharply.

Matthew nodded, a tentative smile on his lips. As he took off his heavy coat, time seemed to drag, he felt so aware of her eyes on him and aware of how that made him feel. Barely breathing, he folded it carefully over the back of the small couch and sat down, clasping his hands between his knees.

"Well, now," he murmured, voice hushed in the dark and quiet. "Where were we?" He looked up at her uncertainly.

Mary was not quite sure what she wanted to say. The question she really wanted to ask - do you love me? Can you forgive me? - she could not articulate. Instead she found herself staring fixedly at the hollow of his throat, something she had never seen before. He was here. The feeling kept washing over her again and again.

"You could have sent a telegram," she said eventually, pulling her eyes away from his neck and meeting his eyes.

"We hardly had chance," he countered, a little defensively. "Our only thought was to get here as soon as possible, and to find somewhere to send a telegram would only have delayed us."

He flinched inwardly as he realised he hadn't even telegraphed Lavinia, didn't know whether she even knew they'd been 'missing'.

She nodded. She had not meant to accuse him. "I know. I didn't mean -" She shook her head to clear this non-starter of the conversation. "I would rather have seen you than receive a telegram!" She smiled imploringly at him.

"And so you did!" A faint colour rose in his cheeks as he thought she'd done a little more than _see_ him. Shifting anxiously, he looked at the floor somewhere in front of her feet. "I can't tell you how happy I was to see you," he eventually said, quietly.

She raised her eyebrows at this even as her heart began to pound again. "You didn't need to tell me!" she insinuated tartly though her expression was warm and longing, admiring his face, his hands, the curve of his shoulders while he was not looking at her.

Her comment caused his breath to catch, and he looked up sharply, lips slightly parted. "Perhaps not."

Words had been quite unnecessary, he reflected. Frowning, he pursed his lips and looked at her more seriously. She'd said they needed to talk, so they might as well. They did need to. _He_ needed to.

"Do you think we shouldn't have?" he wondered.

When he looked up she guarded her expression quickly again. There was no need to make this more complicated than it already was by adding her feelings to it.

"Do you?" she countered unhelpfully, her expression mirroring his.

Matthew shrugged slightly. "We probably shouldn't have." His frown relaxed a little, his face betraying a great deal more warmth suddenly. "That doesn't mean I regret it," he whispered with a little more urgency, his eyes not leaving hers.

Her lips parted at his words and she breathed in rather more sharply than usual.

"Don't you?" she replied immediately, her voice just as quiet and intense as his. Then, aware that all she seemed to be doing was parroting him, she ducked her head and looked away, adding, "I don't either."

Well, that was something. This was difficult. He stood up and began to pace lightly as he thought.

"But Mary, we're both -" The word tripped on his tongue, before he realised that it was _precisely_ the right word for the case. He halted, and turned a serious gaze to her. "Mary, we're both engaged."

Her eyes followed his movements as he paced. She wished he would sit down and be calm about this. The more agitated he appeared, the harder it was to contain herself.

"Yes," she said anxiously and stopped abruptly, pressing her hands together in an effort to stop fiddling. Her face passed through several expressions of doubt and hesitation and reluctance before finally she asked him with mild curiosity, "Matthew, are you in love with Lavinia?"

It was, in many ways, the second most important question that she could ask on the subject. She really thought he was; she had, after all, spent over a year persuading herself and everybody else in her family circle that he was. And yet - he had never directly said he was and now he had kissed her and, well, she really wanted to know!

He stared at her a moment, considering his answer carefully. Finally, his eyes drifted closed and his head lowered a little.

"I - love her, yes," he settled upon. He did love her. The poor girl hadn't done anything wrong at all, she was quite perfect in so many ways. With a heavy sigh, he shrugged. "I do, I'm sorry. It's not as though I chose to. And it's - not the same as how I -" He trailed off, glaring at the carpet.

Though she had only asked out of curiosity, though she perfectly believed him to love her, after what had happened that evening, it was a blow to hear him say the words. She hung her head and tried to ease the pounding of her heart, which was now rather more sick than anything more pleasant.

There was a long silence before she was even aware of what had followed his first statement.

"If you love her, then why-?" she finally asked with an effort at speaking normally, forcing herself to look at him again.

Matthew's lips parted and closed several times as he tried to muster appropriate words, and could not decide what they might be. Could anything be _appropriate_ between them now, here, like this? He paced a little more, passed his hand wearily over his face, and finally sat down on the bed beside her, taking her hands without even thinking. His heart, his entire being was in turmoil.

"Because..." He hesitated, weighing his words carefully. They seemed to be the most important words he might ever say. "I..." He sighed, licked his lips, clasped her hands tighter and looked at her desperately. "Mary, you must know that I love you. I tried to believe that I didn't, that I don't - God knows I've tried - but I can't. I do."

She shifted to one side as the bed bowed as he sat down next to her and she relinquished her hand to him passively, her eyes flickering over his face. It was hard to take in his words, especially after what he had just said about Lavinia. Her heart skipped a beat and her breathing came a little quicker but that was from how he was looking at her. She wanted to - she wanted to believe him, but where could they go from here? She moistened her lips.

"Oh Matthew, it isn't helpful, loving us both," she said, her voice trembling with her effort at speaking rationally. "And you're engaged to Lavinia. I've told everybody - I keep telling them – that you're engaged to her!" She heard her voice rise and realised she was not half so reasonable as she thought she was. She closed her eyes briefly. "You love her, you're going to marry her and you will be happy for the rest of your life. It is enough."

"It isn't enough," he hissed with sudden conviction, and his face suddenly dropped. "I wanted it to be, Mary, but if I love her, and marry her - I don't think I could be happy. Not as happy as I might be." His voice trembled as much as he himself did, and he gripped her hands. "Sir Richard - Mary, would you be happy? I told you it would only count if you meant it. If you would be, we'll forget all this madness, I'll go back to my room and we needn't speak of it again."

Her lips parted and she stared at him, all her senses focused on the warmth of his hands, clasping hers almost painfully tightly. She was shaking her head before she knew what she was doing.

"I don't love him, if that's what you mean!" she found herself replying honestly, unable to bring herself to peddle any of that nonsense about being happy that she used to convince herself on normal days.

Matthew laughed suddenly at the absurdity of it. They were sitting on her bed, hand in hand, clad only in the thinnest nightwear and were speaking of love, whilst both engaged to another. It was quite ludicrous. All sense seemed to have deserted them, surely, it must have?

"Oh, Mary," he murmured lightly. "Are we very foolish, do you think?"

She frowned when he laughed and then joined in lightly, because he was laughing and she simply could not help herself. As he stopped, she stopped too and she looked at him with quiet affection mingled with anxiety. He had broken the tension somewhat.

"Yes," she replied simply, her thumb rubbing over his knuckles. "We are very foolish! But," she continued immediately, "I would rather be foolish with you than sensible without you!" Her lips curved into a rueful smile of acknowledgement.

Ducking his head a little, Matthew chuckled gently, then raised his eyes to hers as he matched her smile. It was a smile of apology, regret, acceptance... understanding. His gaze shifted unconsciously to her lips. He shouldn't, really _shouldn't,_ be thinking of that; but her hands were warm and comforting in his and he craved a closer comfort.

"Fools we shall be, then, I think," he whispered.

A pang of desire or warning shot through her at his words and the tone of breathy intent in his voice. She leaned a little towards him and her shawl, no longer secured by her hands, slipped off one shoulder.

"Oh, Matthew," she murmured as her eyes slid down to his lips. Could he be thinking what she was thinking? Her heart fluttered in anticipation.

Heat suddenly shuddered through him at the deepness of her murmur, as he tracked her eyes down. It seemed inevitable. He drew a trembling breath, and closed a little more of the distance. His hand instinctively rose to pull her shawl back over her shoulder, but somehow it only turned into a caress as his fingers brushed softly at her neck. There seemed little point in trying to deny it, after what they had said, after what they'd already done, but... It was of no matter. He gave himself up to it, allowing his lips to brush hers in a sharp wave of anticipation and froze, unable to do any more as he savoured that slightest touch.

She swallowed as his hand caressed her shoulder, feeling every slightest touch as a trail of fire. She was already warm with prickling desire, had been all evening, and as his lips brushed hers she almost jumped from the strength of her reaction. For a second she just sat there, enjoying the sudden, breathless stillness of the moment. Then her eyes drifted closed and she leaned towards him and very softly kissed him back.

Trembling slightly, Matthew smiled against her lips, barely breathing. His fingers skimmed from her shoulder, to her neck, to her cheek, still hardly daring to touch her. It felt like the sweetest indulgence, so very, very wrong but so very, very right, as he closed his eyes and kissed her gently.

Mary was so sensitive that even this slow, delicate kiss, their lips barely doing more than brush against each other seemed almost unbearable. Still holding his hand and continuing to lightly stroke it with her thumb, she raised her other hand and mirrored his own actions, lightly dancing over his neck, coming to rest on his cheek, her fingers almost in his hair but not quite.

The simple graze of her fingers, her lips, against his skin sent such intense shivers of pleasure through Matthew, spreading delicious warmth through him despite the thinness of his attire. It was too much to bear and he forced himself away, gasping lightly, they couldn't...

"Mary," he breathed, even speech almost beyond him.

Her lips tingled as he pulled back and her eyes opened slowly to meet his almost impossibly deep, blue ones. She was breathing much harder than she should have been, her chest rising and falling rapidly under her thin white nightdress. Her lips remained parted and she stared at him in wonder, feeling such overwhelming love for him she did not know how to contain it.

Matthew's hand remained upon her cheek, his whole body inclined towards her, as he did nothing but stare for a moment in wordless wonder into her eyes. His thumb brushed softly over her lips. "Mary, this is..." Dangerous? Idiotic? Wonderful? All of that, more than that? He hardly knew.

She closed her eyes as a wave of delirious pleasure swept over at the touch on her lips and leaned into his hand.

"Darling..." she murmured without any conscious thought, clutching his hand a little more tightly.

"Oh, Mary..." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it softly, breathing in the light scent of her evening's perfume that still clung to her and giving a gentle sigh against her skin. "We shouldn't," he murmured without committal, turning her hand over and kissing her palm, lost in her softness.

Her hand almost fell from his cheek, smoothing down his shoulder and ending up on his arm.

"Shouldn't what?" she murmured idly - mischievously if she had been capable of it, her head swimming and her eyes flicking open to look at him with wide luminosity. It was not that she couldn't think... but she really did not want to. For just a little while, she simply wanted Matthew here with her; she would lose him soon enough.

His head was still lowered, lips still against her hand, but he raised his eyes and met hers deeply.

"I think you know perfectly well." His voice was a warm, murmuring breath against her skin and, before waiting for her reply, he lowered his eyes again and resumed his attentions to her palm and the delicate skin of her wrist.

For a moment she did not reply. Her eyes lowered as his did, her face bending a little closer to his and she watched him kiss her wrist almost as if her hand belonged to someone else. And yet she was aware of everything and could hardly breathe from the sensations it invoked. The room was silent save for the crackle of the warm fire and the slight noises that he made against her skin.

Eventually she replied almost silently, "Then why don't you stop?"

At that, he did stop, though really it was only a pause and his lips remained against her warm skin where he could feel her pulse gently flutter.

"I only said that we shouldn't," he whispered. "That's still true." One last, indulgent taste of her skin, and he raised his head, eyes glittering in the firelight. "Do you want me to stop?" His lips barely moved, everything seemed to have frozen around him.

Their faces were only a few inches apart now and she met his eyes and her stomach turned over just from that. Her brow contracted a tiny amount as she whispered, "Not if you don't, my dearest."

As she said it, she realised it was true. Her heart was already entirely his but he was not free and she wouldn't have him any other way. As she thought of it, she pursed her lips slightly in denial of it.

Matthew moistened his lips, frowned for a moment and raised his eyebrows.

"I don't _want_ to," he said softly. "But..."

He frowned again, sighed softly and lowered his eyes. It was all wrong. It wasn't fair. But his hands were still clasped gently around Mary's and he couldn't, he couldn't bring himself to part from her.

Mary sighed and before she could analyse her reactions, had stood up and taken a step backwards. For a second she stared painfully at him. She felt peculiar; suddenly cold without him at her side, yet the fire was almost impossibly hot on her back.

"Then I think you should go," she said eventually. Her voice sounded thin and harsh and indeed the words almost stuck in her throat. She could not look at him and be unmoved and not wish for nothing more than to step forward and back into his arms as she had done at the concert. But there were limits to her stoicism and kissing a man in her bedroom who was in love with another woman and did not want to be there was beyond her powers of endurance. As she spoke, she felt her mask fall back down in protection.

"There!" She was hardly able to lift her hand far enough to indicate the door. If she moved, she felt she might collapse.

Slowly, Matthew stood up, his face expressionless but for the deep burning of his eyes that were locked upon hers. He made as if to walk towards the door but as he passed Mary, his hand almost involuntarily reached out and took hers.

Standing beside her, looking at the door over her shoulder, he spoke quietly, almost into her ear. "If you really want me to leave, Mary, I will."

His voice, and the tight clutch of his hand, betrayed the quiet desperation in his tone that he was begging her, pleading with her to give him a reason to stay, because every scrap of sense in him told him he shouldn't, when he wanted to with every fibre of feeling he bore.

She stiffened and pulled her hand quickly out of his, unbearably affected by his nearness yet again.

"I said," she replied, her voice catching though she was trying desperately hard to keep it even, "that it depended on you, and you said you didn't want to stay. I think that makes things abundantly clear, don't you?"

Matthew frowned gently as she pulled away. He hadn't said that at all, quite the opposite in fact!

"Mary," he stood awkwardly by her side, increasingly aware once more that they were standing privately in her bedroom in nothing more than thin nightclothes that could do nothing to prevent shivers that were not from any cold. "I said I didn't want to _stop_. I _want_ to stay," he said quietly, firmly. "I just know that it might not be wise, that - that doesn't mean I don't want to." His quiet, earnest voice implored her.

She still held herself aloof from him, leaning back as her feet seemed to be stuck to the floor. She felt she was not understanding him properly, or the situation, or anything. She was exhausted. She stared at him with an intense frown.

"What does it mean then, Matthew? You know how I feel now and you - I don't understand what you really intend."

"Neither do I!" His voice raised a little and he pursed his lips in frustration. By his sides, his hands clenched with gentle agitation. Looking at her with a piercing gaze, he shook his head slightly. "I don't know how you feel, not really." He took half a step towards her. "You sought me out to talk, Mary, and I have told you plainly how I –"

Her lips parted as she once again swayed backwards; he was invading her personal space again and a wave of longing washed over her much as she wished it wouldn't. She shook her head, not hearing half of what he said, before she cut him off and interrupted, "How can you not? Everyone else does! And I kissed you... darling Matthew, how can you -"

She pressed her eyes shut and turned her head away in resignation.

Licking his lips, his voice deepened with seriousness for a moment. "You've kissed me before, Mary. I thought I was sure then." He wanted to be sure, wanted desperately to believe what his heart was telling him - _needed_ to believe it, or else he could never forgive himself - he shrugged gently and lowered his gaze. "I can only guess, because until you tell me for sure, I can hardly dare to think that -" His voice dropped to a soft whisper. "That you might love me."

"Love you!" she exclaimed softly, almost in amusement. What did she have to lose now? She reached her hand out and squeezed his arm much as she had done when she had first seen him that first time at the first concert last year. She looked up and met his eyes with expressive openness and a little anxiety. "So, so much!"

All Matthew's breath left him in a rush of happiness, and he smiled; a beautiful, tender expression somewhere between relief and joy. Closing the distance between them, he took her hands.

"I thought - I didn't want to hope -" he stammered quietly, then, overcome in a rush of absolute love, he kissed her again.

It seemed the only thing to do.

**TBC**

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><p><em>Thank you for reading! We'd love to know what you thought! Silvestria and OrangeShipper :)<em>


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thank you to every for your lovely reviews and alerts and favourites. We appreciate it so much and we are SO sorry it has taken so long to post it. We had about 70% of it written and then simply never found an opportunity to finish it off somehow. Anyway, belated though it is, I hope you enjoy it!_

_P.S. Serious smut alert!_

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><p>Passion flared between them instantly and Mary felt a rush of relief at his reaction. She gripped his hands as she tilted her head, smiling, to press her lips to his with more intent.<p>

They were standing now, and Matthew's instinct was to wrap his arms around her and pull her flush against him, pressing closely as they had not been able to sitting on the bed. In her kiss he found acceptance, longing, and - for the first time he allowed himself to fully realise it - love. His hands roamed intently over her back, and... he realised within moments that there was nothing beneath her nightgown that was thin, so thin that he could feel the warmth of her body beneath it... Much as there was nothing beneath his own pyjamas. The realisation sent a sweeping pang of desire through him, so strong that he gasped into her mouth and drew back, looking at her with wide, startled eyes.

She felt it the same moment he did. Wrapping her arms round his neck and pulling him as close as he pulled her, she felt every inch of him through their thin, cotton nightclothes. He was burning and taught against her and she felt a strong stab of need. Her hands smoothed away from his neck, over his shoulders and clasped either side of his face. She stared back at him, feeling a pounding nervousness in her heart that was in addition to her desire.

"Are you - are you going to stay then?" she asked breathlessly, her lips twitching into a half-smile.

"I - God, I want to," he sighed, and rested his forehead against hers with a gentle smile. But stay for what? Hot blood throbbed through every vein of his body. He'd come to talk, he was going to stay to talk, but his head was swimming with desire and he began to wonder that if he stayed, he wasn't at all sure that he'd be able to leave things at talking. But he was tied, so dreadfully tied, and Mary _loved_ him and really, did anything else matter? His sense told him it did, he _knew_ that it did, but he could hardly think of it. "Mary, what am I to do?" he eventually whispered, his voice betraying a sense of helplessness.

She appreciated his dilemma much as it frustrated her. Though her mind purposefully darted away from acknowledging both what they were currently doing and what she had no intention of stopping happening if it did, she could not help being aware of his reaction to her, incredibly obvious considering their closeness. She knew she could simply pull him back to her and he would let her but she baulked from such a seduction. She swallowed as her thumbs stroked his cheeks and brushed over his lips. "I can't answer for you, Matthew." She moistened her lips and tasted him on them and blinked. "It's your choice - I think it must be. Only -" her expression softened and she could not help trying to persuade him even against what she knew to be sensible, "for me, to love you - it is the greatest joy of my life!"

Matthew shut his eyes and swallowed, trying to think rationally against everything she was doing, saying, everything she was making him feel... Think rationally? Oh, what was the point? No, he must... Must he? Lavinia was in London, Mary was _here_, and... Well, now he knew he _must_ release Lavinia, for her own sake as much as his, it was not as though he could do so this very instant! And to leave Mary in the meantime, seemed the most unthinkable thing in the world. In his heart, he was sure. In his heart, he had released Lavinia and committed himself, already, to Mary. Surely that was what mattered? And if not - everything so far this night had been so utterly impossible anyway, did any sense really matter now? He sighed and brushed his lips to hers. "Of mine, too," he eventually whispered, as his hand traced over her cheek and slipped to the back of her head. "I love you," he breathed, overcome.

She watched him carefully, on edge with wariness and hope. When he finally spoke, she almost wilted in relief and her hands fell again to his shoulders. She returned his kiss, brushing her lips against his. But she could not quite give in to him yet. "The most?" she murmured against his lips, quickly kissing him again. She felt the heat swirling inside her and it was almost a source of excitement to force it down. "When you come back, will you have a fiancée?"

His hands fell to her waist and tightened there, unconsciously bunching the material of her nightgown as he considered her question. "I'm not sure I can answer that," he said carefully, stealing fleeting kisses between his words. "Only that - I intend to go to London on the morning train to release Lavinia." His voice trembled breathlessly, he could hardly comprehend what he was saying.

It was enough and her heart sang. Her grandmother had been right on one point - she could feel sorry for Lavinia later. Their kisses inbetween his words were getting heavier and longer and she had only time to say in a rush, "You could still have one if you liked," before she gave in to her anticipation and pressed herself more fully against him and kissed him back more lingeringly, not pulling away.

Her words sent a wave of anticipation, pleasure and promise sweeping over him, her kisses were intoxicating... His hands slipped around her back and hugged her even closer, the warmth of her body pressed to his causing him to flame with arousal. Her lips were soft, warm, moist, and so, so sweet, and the softest groan hummed in the back of his throat as he sank into the kiss, which seemed to deepen of its own accord.

Her hands curled round his shoulders, her fingers brushing over the soft hair on the delicate skin of his neck above the collar of his shirt. She tilted her head, opened her mouth to him with a smile of joy and release and passion, shivering as she felt his groan all the way down to her toes which curled in her slippers. She wanted him, he wanted her (God, he really did want her - not Lavinia, _her_ - it was wonderful and triumphant and heartbreaking) and here they were and she could feel his hands on her skin through her nightdress and she did not want, could not bear him to stop.

He felt her lips part under his own, the beautiful intimacy of it seeming even beyond anything else at that moment. It was an invitation, an approval, and he responded without even thinking about it as his tongue glanced against hers, eliciting another quiet groan. Thought, sense, care, disappeared. It was too late, far too late for that; all there was, was her, and _them_, and _this_.

Heat flared all through her and she felt herself flush over her whole body, becoming acutely aware of her lack of those protective layers that had always been there when she had kissed Matthew before. Under this one loose piece of cotton she was completely naked. It was both liberating and terrifying. This kiss was deeper and more intimate than anything she had experienced before. Oh, technically, she supposed there was nothing new about it, but it was Matthew and they were here and she could feel him and he was all around her and she wanted him closer and yet could not imagine it and - and thought disintegrated as she wrapped her arms more tightly round him, exploring his back and his neck and his hair, every movement and shift of position aiming at even greater closeness.

Through the scrap of layers between them, Matthew felt her tension, felt her draw him in closer, and the realisation made him tremble. Everything else was slowly fading from his awareness as he allowed himself to focus on nothing else but her, the warm, taunting feel of her against him, his growing need almost painfully strong. All he could do was clutch her tighter, kiss her deeper, but none of it seemed enough.

Mary was lost in him, only his arms tight round her waist, bunching and smoothing the nightdress over her skin, were preventing her from falling. Her response to him was flowing over into uncomtrollable shudders. The kisses, however deep, however exploratory, only fuelled her desire for greater intimacy and her hands in their roaming over his back slipped under his loose shirt and clung to his bare skin. Unable to process the almost unexpected softness of his skin under hers, her hands reacted instinctively and stroked it with tingling fingertips.

As her cool fingers touched his skin, Matthew gasped aloud and drew back. His eyes met hers in a flash of desperate, intense desire before his head twisted, his lips dropping to the smooth, delicate skin of her neck. He kissed her skin there, sucked lightly at it, trailing hot kisses down and along her shoulder... raising a hand to tease aside the restrictive material of her nightdress to allow his lips to reach one more inch of her precious skin.

An additional sharp bolt of heat flashed through her as she caught a brief glimpse in his eyes of her own desire mirrored in him. Then her eyes fell shut again and her head rolled gently to the side with untaught instinct. The feeling of his lips on her skin... Soft as they were, she tightened strangely in response, for one moment, her nails pressed into his back and sucked in her breath sharply, the cold air as it entered her lungs contrasting with the drugged, oppressive warmth she felt all over.

He felt her head move to accommodate him, and he smiled indulgently against her shoulder, releasing a soft moan as her nails dug into his skin with a reassuring firmness. He eased the thin cotton further, it wouldn't reach all the way off her shoulder but almost, almost... and he flicked his tongue lightly over all he could reach. Trembling, he dropped his hand to her hip, flinching with a sharp shudder when his fingers skimmed over her breast as it fell.

She jerked against him as she felt his finger so briefly on her breast. He had not touched her anywhere so intimate - yet - and she reacted instinctively to it, her mouth falling open a bit and her head fell forwards again. Some combination of moving her own hands round his waist to his stomach and some combination of rocking forwards as her head landed and nestled in the crook of his neck unbalanced them and she grabbed at his shirt to steady herself, not that it would make any difference when her legs hardly supported her.

As she lost her balance and pulled him forwards, Matthew instinctively swept his arm under her, catching her and lifting her with ease. He'd lifted grown men before, hauled them over his shoulders and across battlefields; Mary, he found, seemed barely to weigh anything in his arms. He looked down at her, over her, seeing her flushed, breathless expression, and bent his head to kiss her again

For a second everything except the frantic pounding of her heart seemed to stop in the shock of his picking her up. How strong his arms were - through the haze of her feelings, she felt a completely separate pang, that it was the army that had made him thus. She met his eyes for a brief moment of delight at his gesture, at *him*, before her gaze flickered down to his lips and she leaned up to meet his kiss, her head tilted back and her lips already parted. She still clutched at the front of his shirt with one hand, the fingers played with his top button before undoing it, while her other hooked round his neck for security.

Matthew's head swam deliciously. She was so soft, so warm in his arms, and her kiss so eager, and when he realised where her fingers were coaxing he gave a soft, encouraging moan. As he dipped his head further, kissing her more searchingly, more deeply, he found himself stumbling irrevocably forwards until his knees hit her bed, and he looked up sharply. He stared deeply at her for a few breathless moments, before wordlessly lowering her to the bed and stretching himself over her, propped above her on his elbows. He could hardly think anymore.

She stared up from the bed, meeting his eyes. As she did so, a wave of joy and love rose up in her and burst from her in a smile of heartfelt happiness. To be here with him, to make love to him - she had meant it when she had said it was the greatest happiness of her life. For a moment, just being able to look at him and imprint the memory on her consciousness was a greater pleasure than any kiss. Then her eyes lowered to his chest and her fingers moved down to the next button, undoing each one carefully until she was able to push his shirt off his shoulders, her hands carressing his shoulders as she did so.

His eyes fluttered closed as she unclothed him, and he lowered his mouth to her neck again. "Mary..." he breathed her name softly as he trembled over her, distractedly clutching at her nightdress where his hand lay on her waist. All care or thought deserted him as he supposed himself to be in some wonderful fantasty of her, the reality of it only testified to by the warm firmness of her body beside and beneath him. As he gave in to this thought, his hand wandered over her waist, around her hip, before trailing up and coming to rest upon her breast with the softest of caresses. He was utterly lost in her.

Mary ran her fingers lightly over his chest, delighting in the different textures of his skin and faint blond hairs until he had lowered himself over her so completely that she had to extract her hand and explore his back instead. Sharp stabs and shudders, more acute than before, were flooding through her now as she could feel the length of his body against her. One of her legs lay between his and she raised it slightly, instinctively searching for a more intense friction, but when she felt his hand on her breast, for a moment she stiffened in surprise but then shuddered from head to toe, letting out an involuntary low moan.

Her soft moan only encouraged him, and he touched her with a greater purpose, enjoying the way the cotton slid between her skin and his hand, and her reaction to it. A sense of liberation flooded him, and he gave up any thought of caution, shifting onto his knees slightly so that he could press hot kisses all over her front, sucking at her with lips and teeth through the thinness of her nightdress. The progress of his lips was marked with quiet groans expelled in hot breaths against her, as he felt her writhe under his attention.

Once she had started vocalising her response to him she did not seem able to stop. When pulled back she hissed in disappointment but that soon turned to little gasps and groans as she felt his lips through the roughness of the cotton. There was something wicked, delicious, unexpected about it and it was almost too much to bear. She wanted – she wanted more. Stretching out her arm in little jerks that mirrored her trembling, she somehow found his hand and held it in a bruising grip.

"Matthew!" she cried, her voice breaking.

At her breathless cry, he paused. Slowly, deliberately removing his hands from her, he eased himself forward to lie above her, feeling the the friction of her nightdress against his bare chest. Hovering tantalisingly only inches from her face, with a wicked, taunting smile, he quirked one eyebrow.

"Yes, love?" he murmured, so softly his voice was barely a low thrum in his throat.

Oh, that was better... to feel him cover her so completely. She parted her legs enough to run each foot up and down his legs, rucking and pulling down on the loose trousers that he still wore, as she grinned helplessly back at him. Who would have thought it could be so much _fun_? She could feel him now - properly - and the unreality of what they were doing hit her once again. It was so utterly mad and wrong but she could not imagine ever regretting it. If they only had one chance to be happy, then she was through with prevarication.

"You know," she whispered back breathlessly and reached her other hand up to stroke his hair away from his face, her fingers hot and trembling. Then she added with her voice coming out quickly in little bursts, "Did they teach you this in the army, dearest, because you must have been a very good pupil!"

He chuckled deeply, turning his face to kiss her fingers before looking down at her once more, shifting his hips against her and grinning as it made her shudder.

"What, dear, teach me how to make love to a woman?" His low voice was almost a purr. He shook his head, allowing his eyes to linger pursposefully on her lips. "No, I'm finding it comes quite naturally with the right... inspiration."

Without allowing her time to reply, he bent his head and kissed her, so deeply but just for a moment, then drew back to kneel up over her. Tugging her up to sit, he grasped her nightdress and, with passionate determination, drew it up and over her head, tossing it carelessly aside.

He kissed her (and it seemed like a long time since he had) before she could make any kind of pithy reply. The "right inspiration" indeed? She would have to call him out on lines like that when she was more capable of, well, anything. The kiss was over too quickly; she leaned forwards to keep it going as long as possible before letting him bring her to her knees, holding his gaze as he pulled off her nightdress. She knelt naked in front of him, wondering if she ought to feel some embarrassment, but she felt none. She felt as if she were glowing and radient with her love for him and so she simply stared at him as he stared at her, until her eyes fell from his face. A moment later, she leaned forwards, brushed her lips against his as she did so, and placed her hands on his waist. Only at this point did her heart begin to hammer with nerves as she started to push down his pyjama bottoms.

Matthew could do nothing but stare mutely at her in the calm after his rush. She was beautiful, more beautiful than he'd ever thought, ever dared to think, and he could hardly dare to touch her again in case the vision should shatter. He shivered when she kissed him, so lightly, and raised himself a little to aid her task. He swallowed nervously at his exposure, with the silent understanding that they could not turn back now, if they ever had been going to - and he trembled with elation. The silence was heavy and electric, only intensified by the gently crackling flames and their heavy breaths as they knelt before one another, with all between them removed.

Mary's breaths were shallow but could be clearly seen in the rapid rise and fall of her chest as her eyes skimmed over him, the parting of her lips and a slight, impressed raising of her eyebrows her only visible reaction. Inside her stomach clenched with desire. However confident a person was about their attractions, and she was pretty confident, it was something quite different and awe-inspiring to see physical evidence of their effect. A warmth of longing mixed strangely with gratitude washed over her and her expression softened. She held out a hand to him and, just as she had earlier during the concert, gingerly touched his chest and raised her eyes to his with a question.

He couldn't help the shy chuckle, or the nervous lick of his lips, at her reaction to him. He was overwhelmed, by her, that they were here, like this... He couldn't think of anything else. Covering her hand on his chest, his eyes twinkled; he lifted it, kissed it, before tenderly easing her down to lie back. As he knelt beside her, he let his gaze track over her, indulgently slowly, then bent to press a soft, lingering kiss to the centre of her chest. He couldn't move, and remained for a second in breathless pleasure.

Her breath felt stifled. Everything seemed to have slowed down; only the continual tingling of her skin as he looked at her, as if he was touching her with his eyes, and the steady, dull ache of need remained. She blinked up at him, the feel of his lips on her chest lingering and said mischievously as she trailed one hand down his arm, "Well, darling, is that all?" Her voice was low and teasing but it concealed a frisson of nerves and anticipation that she could not quite ignore.

Without raising his head, he turned to look at her with parted lips, but then his only reply was to kiss her chest again with even greater deliberation. Her skin was so beautifully smooth, and he began to explore it, taking sweet tastes of her with hot, open-mouthed kisses, every one causing a greater shiver of arousal. He couldn't get enough... When he reached her breast, he allowed himself one fleeting glimpse before closing his eyes and drawing his tongue leisurely over her, kissing and tasting her and loving her. His hand was still clutched fiercely in hers, or he felt he'd lose himself, while his other rested with gently flexing fingers on her thigh.

Apparently not. She squirmed under his touch as his kisses swiftly fanned the flame of her desire back to its earlier peak. "Oh!" she exclaimed in something that was closer to a squeak than any other sound and sucked in her breath sharply as his lips explored her breast. Her mouth fell open and her eyes shut. She could not have imagined such pleasure. The grip on his hand was almost bruising and her other arm locked round his neck to hold his head in place, fingers possessively clutching at his hair. She writhed more, turning her body towards him. He was not close enough, kneeling there.

Mary's own, increasingly obvious, desire was stoking Matthew's own fiercely, and he wasn't sure he could draw out this delicious taunting of her any longer. He stroked his hand over her, from the warmth between her legs all the way up over the beautifully soft curves of her torso, to clasp her neck as he shifted and stretched himself fully over her. With a gentle, tender kiss, he brushed his thumb over her cheek as he settled between her legs, utterly on fire with anticipation.

She bit down hard on her lip as he positioned himself over her. In one brief, unexpected flash, she remembered, or her body remembered, her previous experience – so easy to forget when with Matthew – and her eyes widened and she stiffened in nervous anticipation of – there wasn't meant to be any pain after the first time, was there? But his kiss was so reassuring and she was so hot and she wanted him so much. Her lips trembled and she almost imperceptibly nodded.

The entire world around them seemed to stop. His lips parted and he watched her, fixed his gaze on every perfect imperfection in her face and her impossibly deep, dark eyes, gently clasping her cheeks as he eased his hips forwards, upwards... As he felt her tight warmth encompass him completely, his eyelids fluttered, lips parted further into an audible sigh of perfect completeness.

Her eyes remained open and locked on his with bright intensity and, the old wives' tales were true, there was no pain. A greater warmth and happiness than she had ever known washed over her. She raised her hands, needing to touch him more and stroked over his face – cheeks, parted lips, eyes, nose – learning him by touch, and she arched her back up towards him and wrapped her legs round him, accommodating him more within her, pulling him torturously deeper. It was perfect; _he _was perfect.

Such a feeling of utter satisfaction flooded him, the pleasure almost unbearably sharp as he held himself there, buried within her. For a moment he couldn't move, could only cling to her and feel her, surrounding him in every possible way. His head bowed to rest against her forehead, shifting a fraction until their lips brushed as he began to draw back, before thrusting deeply into her once more in a slow, taunting rhythm.

She wrapped her arms round his neck, keeping his head as close to hers as possible. Every time his lips brushed against hers mirroring the rhythm of his hips, she could not help releasing a small, anguished moan. Every inch of her was on fire and she shuddered and rocked against him, her pleasure in the friction between them almost painful. Everything felt tight and hot and _him_.

While Matthew desperately wanted to keep his head, to realise and appreciate and _enjoy_ everything about what he still couldn't believe they were doing, it was impossible when she shifted against him so, when her soft cries of pleasure tickled his ear, when her hands clutched him _just_ so and her lips brushed him just there... He couldn't comprehend it all at once, it was too much, he was lost in _her_. His hips jerked and he gasped in response to her shudder, her name slipping past his lips in a deep murmur as he arched his back to reach her breast again with his tongue.

Mary had no idea what she ought to be doing at this point, instinct took over, she could only feel and experience and clutch him for dear life as his rhythm began to jolt and change and speed up. As he latched on to her breast, she let out a low wordless cry and her breath began to come in rapid pants. She pulled him back down to her or raised herself off the pillow to meet him, she hardly knew which, her hands scrabbling over his back, shifting herself in an unceasing quest for _something_, and with every shift, sharps shudders of desire washed through her, building to almost unbearable, almost painful convulsions.

She was hot and sweet and _perfect_ against him, around him, it felt as though she touched him everywhere all at once, and Matthew felt a delicious, taut, tension build deep within him. His back ached but he didn't care, his legs ached but he didn't care, he couldn't care for anything but her warmth and her body and breath that encompassed him. He dragged his lips from the sweetness of her breast and groaned against her neck, as the sharp, wonderful thrust of her hips against his became sloppier and faster, less controlled… She tightened around him and he cried out, clinging to her as his entire perception blacked out into everything and nothing, the friction unbearable and wonderful and devastating. Unthinkable throbs of pleasure overtook him as he shuddered within her and against her, and he felt a blissful lack of control over any of his limbs.

With a sharp intake of breath, everything seemed for one moment to stop and then he plunged into her again and with a cry, she knew not how loud or long or what she said, she was falling... falling... falling only she was under him so how could she fall? and everything was heat and bliss and the most perfect pleasure.

Matthew's arms had somehow wrapped around her and he held her as tight as he could, somehow only realising as they sank together into erratic, trembling shudders that it was _Mary_. He'd known it, of course he'd been almost painfully aware of it but... God, it was _Mary_ and he'd broken to pieces in her arms and she'd cried out his name and... "Oh, God, Mary," he panted in hot breaths against her sweat-dampened skin. He couldn't say any more, couldn't possibly express what he felt, but it was overwhelming and beautiful and she was perfect, and so he only clutched her tighter and pressed trembling kisses to her shoulder.

She was shaking and hot when she came to herself seconds later and Matthew was a heavy, welcome weight on top of her. She felt almost detached from herself, floating above the thick, lethargic limbs she knew were her own. And him- her darling, beloved, _living_ Matthew was there with her, holding her still and kissing her and murmuring her name against her skin like a strange, adult baptism. She certainly felt reborn. Her hands were... she became aware of them - her hands were pressed against his back and she moved them slightly, carressing his damp skin. She blinked up at the ceiling several times until she lowered her eyes to the top of his head, his hair completely mussed. She had never thought he looked better. Shifting slightly under him, if only to become aware of her own body, she realised he was still buried within her and her eyes closed again as she let out another, quiet, involuntary moan.

Matthew smiled into her shoulder, a low, humming sound of contentment reverberating through him in response to her. He twitched, shivered, and pushed up onto his elbows. Cool air flooded between their chests, though not unpleasantly, and he gazed down at her. With the back of his fingers he stroked her flushed cheeks, as he tried to memorise everything about her before he lowered his head to kiss her... Slowly, languidly, so sweetly... So gently. He shifted his hips a little, finding that little tingles of pleasure still flitted through him, and he felt so utterly peaceful and happy that he couldn't think to withdraw from her.

"Darling..." he whispered against her lips, "Thank you." He didn't precisely know what he was thanking her for, only that he felt somehow incredibly grateful for _this_.

She opened her eyes to see his looming above her, wide, beautiful, oh so blue, and her lips parted as an expression of the most perfect adoration and happiness settled over her entire countenance. She kissed him softly back, the action seeming almost impossibly sweet and simple after all that they had done.

"I love you," she whispered back as nothing else seemed worth saying, "so much." Her voice cracked away into nothing on the last phrase.

Happiness bubbled right through Matthew and he chuckled, brushing his nose against her own and her cheek then covering her face with the lightest of kisses.

"Oh my darling," he breathed, claiming her lips again. "I love you... Darling Mary." He couldn't stop kissing her, couldnt stop touching her, though he was so pleasantly exhausted.. He suddenly wondered what time it was. Oh, but he didn't care!

A sudden burst of laughter bubbled out of her, quenched immediately afterwards because too much effort was involved. She was so happy, so content, so completely fulfilled she did not know how else to express it save with laughter. Every place where his hands or lips touched her left a trail of heat and she welcomed it with a shuddering sigh as she met his lips again and again in soft, languid,

unhurried kisses.

While Matthew himself felt quite deliriously happy, the very notion that Mary seemed equally so was almost beyond him. As they kissed and carressed each other, clinging to the last vestiges of thoughtless pleasure, he felt as though he had barely lived, barely breathed, barely seen until this moment. Slowly, he became aware of the cooling sweat on his back as the fire was burned lower, and he ached for a closer comfort. With a soft little grunt, he eased off Mary, gasping as he pulled out of her, remedying the separation quickly as he managed to tug the heavy blankets of her bed over them both, then enfolding her in his arms.

"Sorry, I - was cold," he murmured into her hair.

She met his eyes quickly as they parted and she turned her head away, a characteristic movement even on the pillow. The first of many partings, she thought with a pang as she manoevered to help him pull the covers over them. As he spoke she rubbed his arms which were enclosed around her.

"We can't have that," she murmured and pressed back against him. What would they do? She didn't want to think about it, but he really couldn't remain here to be found by Anna in the morning! Or could he? Wildly she wondered if she would care very much if he was...

He shivered and smiled, hugging her tighter. Now that rational thought seemed to have returned (though had it, really? Was he capable of it here, like this?) he suddenly felt very aware of their... situation. Had they been very foolish? No - no, he absolutely wouldn't think that, he _couldn't_, not when he loved her so... But still, they... Oh, what did he care! Mary was silent, too. He sighed

gently.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, softly, as his hand rubbed warmly over her back.

She was silent for a while longer before she replied, telling him the truth. To say anything else to him now seemed absolutely ridiculous. He knew her far too intimately to be lied to even if she had wanted to.

"I'm thinking about the expression on Anna's face if she found you here tomorrow morning. It would be worth seeing, I'm sure of it."

He laughed aloud, shifting his legs as they tangled comfortably with hers.

"I wish I could be!" he chuckled, then said more seriously, "It would be better if I left, wouldn't it..." But he didn't want to! He wanted more than anything to stay here, in her arms... "Would you rather I did?"

She shrugged again and then shifted in his embrace so she could look at him.

"I have to say 'yes', don't I?" Her expression softened from anxiety to love. "But I don't want you to... I don't want you to leave at all."

She wasn't just talking about his leaving her bed and she knew he'd know that. It was selfish of her and when the time came she would be stoical because she had to be but for now - now, she wanted to regret him and linger over him and love him - and that he should know it.

"I know, darling," he said deeply. He shifted forward and kissed her again, fiercely, desperately, hoping that somehow she might _understand_ everything he couldn't say. Finally he pulled back, breathing heavily. "I'm - going to London on the first train, and -" God, he didn't want to think of that now! "Then I shall be here until... Mary, I'm so glad we'll have this." He knew he must go, really, but his limbs made not the slightest effort to move from her. He couldn't.

She kissed him back with equal fierceness and then nodded.

"We will always have this," she replied intensely, her eyes bright and firm. She did not need to add _'whatever happens'_. It was too obvious and she did not want to think it, not now. Anyway, her heart fluttered because he had said he would come back... Maybe he would be only gone a day! And then- She really shouldn't be thinking what she was thinking, but she knew it was in her eyes all the same.

"Always," he whispered tremulously, but firmly. His hand came to rest on her cheek as he looked at her, savoured her... He would carry this image of her, naked in his arms with blushed cheeks and dishevelled hair, so beautiful, with him wherever, whatever he faced. He kissed her, sucking gently at her lower lip, memorising the taste of her.

"I hope to be back by tomorrow evening," he murmured.

She licked her lips, savouring the taste of him on them and her eyes flickered up to his.

"And I shall be here," was all she said but in such a way that it conveyed so much more than the words themselves suggested. She would be here when he returned a free man but not, she imagined, a happy one, for breaking it off with Lavinia would be unpleasant however necessary. She would be here even if all he would be able to do would be to take her hand as he brushed past her. And she would be here when he next returned from the front. Whatever the circumstances. And return he would.

He nodded, smiled a genuine, appreciative smile, and drew her in closely against his chest, arms curling around her shoulders as his fingers twisted comfortingly into her hair. How could he ever let her go? Oh, it - wasn't going to be easy, none of it was going to be easy. But he was so entirely sure that _this_ was right and true and he loved her, that... None of it mattered. He'd deal with

it. _They'd_ deal with it. Somehow, together.

"Thank you, my darling." He pressed tender kisses into her hair, with a trembling sigh. "I love you," he whispered again, as though that covered everything else. It _did_. He loved her, and that was all of it.

Her lips curved into a gentle smile, never tiring of hearing him say it, now that she finally knew. It would be alright. It would all be alright. They would see that it was.

"I love you," she whispered back. In the end, it did not matter if he stayed or went that night, for now they were together, she felt sure they would be able to face any eventuality.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you so much for reading. We hope you enjoyed. *cough* Yes. And any comments are most gratefully received._

_OrangeShipper & Silvestria_


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